Circular Existence
by gizachick
Summary: Prequel to a coming story involving time travel, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, war, passion, friendship, and a plethora of other things.


Prologue 

_Disclaimer:  I don't own Harry Potter or any of Ms. Rowling's characters or plot lines.  I'm just doing this for fun and writing practice._

_Author's Notes:  Please check my author profile if you care at all about back story and information, future author's notes or anything else I may choose to say about this story, or anything for that matter._

If you managed to see past the blank emotionless mask, his uniform of the past year, past the fiercely determined set of the jaw, the bitter curl of the lip and the obvious tone and stance of a warrior's body, you may catch a glimpse of tired eyes; usually hard and less forgiving than diamonds, but occasionally, when the mind wanders back to happier times and relatively carefree days, the eyes soften in remembrance and he almost seems human again.

Idle thoughts of a dying mind.  Colin Creevy lay on his side in the mud of the trampled battlefield, bleeding from a fatal wound to the torso, his final thoughts on the man who supplied him confidence in the face of danger and bravery in the midst of enemies, the man who inspired him and everyone else who happened to know him.  Colin had thought that the last things a person thought about before he died were scenes from his life, but all he'd thought about was how sad it was that Harry Potter was never permitted a life.  As his life's blood ran out into the muck, and he slipped quietly into Death's waiting hands, Colin's last thought was, "You've done enough for us Harry.  Do this for yourself."  

Another soul joins those of the dead, littering the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the battle rages on.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

He is near.  I can smell his fear.  The fear of a serpent is quite unique when compared to that of a human.  You can easily decipher the sweet stench of it from the sour, slightly spoilt scent that a human emits.  Oh yes, he's close, and he's afraid.  Afraid of me, and he should be.  He assumed too much when he came here looking for a school-boy, but found me instead.  Come and get me Tom.  I'm ready for you, but you don't seem ready for me.

I see you.

You look confused Tom.  What's wrong?  Am I not what you came here for?  Oh.  I should apologize I suppose, but really, you did show up unannounced didn't you?  Bad form old man.  What are you thinking about Tom?  Men who wear that type of suspiciously speculative look usually have a scheme, quickly forming in their mind.  A desperate scheme.  Can you not see that you are already finished?

It's sad really, when you consider it.  You could have been a truly great wizard, respected by all, powerful and brilliant; look at you now, the sad shell of what was once a man.  Where you destined to be what you are, or was it life that changed you?  Were you optimistic once?  Did you have dreams of a pleasant existence, quaint and peaceful, never knowing the horror of death and bloodshed?  Did you  have real friends?  A family?  Why did you waste yourself?  Social reform is brought about through communication and respect, not mass violence.  You must see that, so it leads me to believe you have intensely personal reasons. 

My time for such reflection seems to have come to an end for now.  You've taken your position and I take mine.  Make your move Dark Lord, and I'll make mine.  Will it be quick, or will you draw it out with useless conversation, as is your tradition?  No?  Well then, let us dance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

He is not a child any longer, though I truly was not expecting him to sit idly by and shirk his 'responsibility.'  He is like a machine, programmed for one thing, and one thing only.  The annihilation of myself and my followers.  I watched as he made his way through my ranks, dropping them as if they were naught but mere insects, irritating but harmless.  A plague of pestilence perhaps, but still easily dealt with.  I know he is searching for me as he stops briefly to scan the area, head tilted slightly as if he were searching for my scent on the wind despite the rank stench of death that permeates the area.

Much closer now, I can see him clearly.  His face etched into my mind, it drags up long forgotten images of peace and content, laughter and passion, compassion and forgiveness.  I would think it impossible if the evidence were not standing directly in front of me, just 10 paces away.  So close, and yet so far.  Untouchable to me now, but it had not always been that way had it?  There was a time, once, when I had uninhibited access to the untouchable.  Something so unattainable that all I could do was dream about it, but then there it was.  Now I know what I have to do here.  The future will go on as I have planned it, and the past will be what has past.

He is waiting now.  Both of us in our best dueling posture, wands ready, every possibility conceived of  and accounted for.  Now, we dance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The Dark Lord sent his first spell toward Potter, and as expected, watched as it ricocheted off the shield in place around him.  He saw Potter sending something back, but did not bother even moving.  Nothing important could pass through his shields.  The spell disappeared as it came to the shield.  Slightly curious, but nothing to worry about.  One spell after another traded back and forth, a second of Harry's seemingly disappearing on its way to the Dark Lord;  easily dismissed in the heat of a duel.  Both duelers were becoming frustrated though, after nearly a half hour of constant ping pong.  Neither seemed to be 'going in for the kill,' or so it seemed.  A moment of circling,  a swift movement from both sides, and simultaneous spell casting, each reaching its target successfully.

The results of both spells proved quite impressive, drawing the attention of the remaining fighters.  None of the spectators had ever heard of either spell before, understandable for two reasons; nearly everyone who remained alive and functioning was on the side of the 'light', and both spells were quite dark.  One banned from use and all evidence of its existence destroyed as soon as it was invented, and the other created by its present caster.

- - - - - 

Harry's spell was grotesquely spectacular.  As soon as the words "luescarabi vora demono" had left his mouth, the defeated Dark Lord began to writhe, his skin bubbling and twisting as though something were underneath it.  A theory which proved to be true as a dark shadow burst through his skin, pursued by at least 200 scarab beetles, devouring the thing and leaving the twitching body of a young Tom Riddle staring up into the face of Harry Potter.

"This is where it ends for us Tom.  Finally I can have some peace."  Harry watched as Tom blinked slowly.  His heart would slow to a stop shortly, as Harry's first disappearing spell would ensure.  (The second had separated the darkness that the scarabs would attack from the original soul and body of Tom Riddle.)  "There will be peace and life for you, yes, but for us Liam, this is only the beginning."  With that said, Tom Riddle let go of life, setting the wizarding world free of the dark for a time.

As it happens though, with such fortunate events, something unfortunate occurred to take the sweetness from the victory.  Lord Voldemort's final spell took effect.  Everyone had heard the words "remitto olim quinquaginta unas" but with the effects of Harry's spell being as they were, no one paid it much mind as it seemed to have no effect.  They were proven wrong in this assumption as he began to flicker.  Bits of him began to disappear, little by little, until he was gone, and everyone just stood there and stared.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Where'd he go?"

"Maybe he disapparated."

"There was no pop."

"Yeah, and he wouldn't have faded and flickered that way."

"Well you can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds, but he's Harry Potter, so maybe he did apparate but just had some trouble."

"But what about that spell?  The one You-Know-Who cast on him?  There was something about time wasn't there?"

"No, it was clearly a spell to send him to some other country."

"I think it was an aging spell and now he's 1000 years old."

"Idiot.  It wasn't any such a thing.  It was an exploding spell."

"I wish Hermione Granger were here.  She'd know what that spell was."

"We should probably go to the library then.  That's what she'd do."

"What about the Death Eaters?"

"Let the aurors take care of that."

"Let's just gather the wounded, bring them to the hospital; did anyone hear the entire spell?  Ok, you go to the library, the rest of us will clean up here.  We'll figure out what to do about Harry after this is cleaned up."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The wounded were tended to, the dead buried and remembered, Death Eaters were apprehended and prosecuted, and life went on for the survivors.  Their world was rebuilt, their safety given back to them and everything was beautiful and pleasant.  They never did locate Harry Potter, but they decided that it was better if they just didn't know.  And everything progressed until the world ended in the midst of fire and ice and whatnot, etc. 

But that's not the point is it?


End file.
